


Familiar Faces

by XWingAce



Category: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series, crossover - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XWingAce/pseuds/XWingAce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A Buffy/Highlander Crossover.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> A Buffy/Highlander Crossover.

Familiar Faces

A Buffy/Highlander Crossover.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor have I ever owned any of the characters in this story. I'm just exercising my imagination with them. I get a lot of fun from this, but no other profits. Please don't sue.

If you like this story so much you want to put it up elsewhere, just ask. I'm not likely to make trouble over this, but really, be polite and ask. At the very least, keep my name on it, okay?

I'd love to get feedback of any kind. Please? You can write a review or email me at

.com

You might even get a reply :-)

Now enjoy the read,

XwingAce

Familiar Faces

Part 1

New York City, 1977

Ah, the blood of a Slayer. Makes a man all energetic, like. Makes him feel like some more killin'.

Slipping on the black leather coat that still carried the scent of the woman he'd just killed, William the Bloody got off the Subway train. This late at night, the station was nearly deserted. So much for the city that never sleeps, then.

It didn't take the vampire long to completely eradicate the life that was still present at the station. But a few bums were not enough for someone still high on Slayer's blood. Out onto the streets he went. The first few pedestrians were such easy prey he didn't even bother to drink. Why spoil that exquisite taste still lingering in the back of his throat? But then he encountered some actual resistance.

The man looked to be average everything. Loose clothing hid firm muscles, though, and he rolled with the punch like a real pro. He even came up in a fighting stance, ready to defend against the next one. Now that was more like it. But no ordinary man, however well trained, could stand up to a vampire on the roll, so after about five minutes of trading blows and kicks, the fight was over. Amazing the bloke had held out for so long. To honour his valiance, Spike drained him. Funny really, how the Slayer taste even lingered in his mouth while he drank from this one. He left the limp body where it fell, and went home to Drusilla.

After a few minutes the corpse of William's last victim drew a deep breath, got up slowly, and staggered home.

Part 2

Tangiers, 2002

A warm place might be a good place to spend some time hiding from the Watchers, but 'warm' could be overdone. As could 'crowded'. At the moment, the market was both. And Methos' western looks made him a prime target for the various vendors. He escaped into the slightly less hot and decidedly less crowded shade and made his way around the market through the open spaces and buildings behind the stalls. This worked fine, until he nearly tripped over a body. If it hadn't moved and cried out when he accidentally kicked it, he might have mistaken it for a corpse. The man was all but skin over bones, skin even paler than his bleached hair. He'd been invisible in the near-complete darkness because of the black leather coat that was wrapped around him.

"Sure, go ahead, kick a man when he's down. Just like everybody else."

*And* he looked familiar. However the last time he'd seen anybody with this kind of fashion sense, besides Billy Idol, it was some lethal crazy in New York. Yes, that was it. Add a few pounds, and this guy could be the same man. But that was over thirty years ago. Unless he was Immortal, and he didn't feel like it, he'd barely have been in diapers at that time.

The man had barely glanced at him, but he started to speak:

"William The Bloody, Slayer of two Slayers, killer of countless others. Look mate, I'm sorry, okay? Can't bring 'em back now. Not you, not the Slayers, not any of them. I can't. So please BLOODY WELL LEAVE ME ALONE! ... Pretty please?"

Did this living corpse just recognise him? Not that he was talking much sense, but hell, being known was not a good thing. Especially not by someone who had just about admitted to having killed him. The man was still whimpering on, the word 'sorry' featuring heavily in most sentences.

"You haven't changed much, have you?"

That seemed to elicit a reaction. At least, the blond head tilted back in something resembling laughter.

"Nope, not changed a bit. Still the same. Still Spike. Got what I asked for, I did. Got my soul back. Wanted the Slayer to have what she deserved, I asked. Wanted the old me back. Yeah, I got it, I really did. Now there's everybody inside me, talking to me, whispering

things, accusing me. Horrible things. ... Sorry."

Now he really looked up at Methos, and his tone seemed to become a bit more rational.

"You're one of them, I know. Just a figment of my imagination. You're not real, just like any of the others. Not real..."

And the monologue degraded again into an endless stream of whimpers. Making a mental note to look into this more closely, the Old Man continued to his original destination.  



	2. Not so Familiar Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Again, these characters aren't mine, they never will be. I just wish I could come up with such great characters by myself, but no such luck.

Not so familiar faces...

Disclaimer: Again, these characters aren't mine, they never will be. I just wish I could come up with such great characters by myself, but no such luck.

It's great to get so many encouraging reviews. You people writing reviews is what got me thinking a little more about where this story could go, and so onto actually writing a second chapter. So keep up the good work! Write a review or email me at the email adress below.

This is a slightly updated version of this chapter, as I noticed a collossal mistake in one of the character's descriptions. Also, I should probably warn you that this fic is going to contain, and in fact already does contain, if you can figure them out, enormous spoilers for Buffy's seventh season. I'm trying to stick to the canon as closely as possible, and I even included some scenes, mostly as a way of indicating where in the season we are, but also because they fit :-)

Enjoy,

Xwingace

.com

-

Tangiers

Methos turned the key in the lock and paused. This wasn't right. He'd triple-locked the door when he left, but now the door opened after a single turn of the key. Yet he sensed nothing. Simple burglars, then? He put his ear to the door. Everything seemed quiet. He took the handle and slowly eased the door open. Nothing. All was where it should be.

A rustle of cloth, behind him. He twisted aside just in time to avoid a curved silver dagger stabbing at his kidneys. He pulled at the arm holding it, overbalancing the cloaked assassin. The attacker went flying right into the dagger of a second cloaked figure. Then pain blossomed in his own chest. He tried to stab backwards with his right elbow, but his arm was blocked. So he kicked. Attacker Number Three only stumbled slightly, but it gave him enough time to turn around. Two quick punches and another kick had this assassin off balance. He caught him, and with a simple twist it was over. Number Two was just getting up from under the body of the first attacker. He kicked this one in the head. Now he could pull at whatever was stuck between his ribs. He pulled out another dagger. It was identical to the one that Number One had only tried to stab him with. But why?

Always leave one alive. That way you can ask questions. The assassin was not deeply unconscious. A glass of cold water and a few slaps in the eyeless face woke him up again.

"Who sent you?"

The man's mouth split wide in a grin. Then he opened his mouth. The stump of a tongue was still visible. From nowhere he produced another dagger, and tried to stab Methos. Before he could do so, however, his neck was already broken.

_

Madrid.

Here there was also something wrong. The door was not locked at all, there were no dogs barking, no radio playing, and the alarm was switched off. Everything was too quiet. This smelled of something, and that something was death.

Crouched over the dead body of Carlos Cordoba, Methos didn't see the dagger coming, this time.

_

Sunnydale

Memories. The scream of a girl as he chased her down some unidentified street. The taste of her blood as it flowed down his throat. The taste of Slayer's blood, heightened by the thrill of a long fight. Snippets of hundreds of people, of all ages, of all kinds. Every scent as clear as when he first smelled it, every voice now accusing him. All except for one. A man, one of the many he'd killed in New York in the rush after killing the Slayer. This one never accused, never spoke up. Except once, when he had stood before him as solid as a rock and asked if he'd changed. Well, he hadn't. He was still a predator, a fearless hunter in the night. Only now he hunted a different prey.

What was that squeaking noise? Something had invaded his territory. This was not done. He started sneaking up on the intruder, a rat. But then a figure materialised in front of him. A tall man dressed in black leather, with a long scar running down over his right eye of his face.

"Some predator you are. Chasing rats, while you could be out there sowing terror and reaping fear. To be the man you're supposed to be. To have the respect of everyone again."

The man closed in on him, lips only an inch from his ear. The next words were a mere whisper.

"You could be William the Bloody again."

This wasn't right. William the Bloody was gone. Caged by a piece of circuitry, shattered by that crazy little thing called love, the fragments burned by the spark of a newfound soul. The predator had a new prey now. Of course, none of them would believe that. He wasn't even sure he believed it. Still…

"No, no, no, no, no, no. Now is not the time. You know it. I know it. But making them understand... is a totally different matter. No manners is the problem. Proper breeding. Lack of etiquette. All of it lacking. All of it lost on them."

The dark man stood up and started to laugh. "Not the time? Perhaps. But we'd better be ready for when the time does come, shouldn't we, dear William?"

As the man spoke his name, he morphed into an elderly woman, long gray locks of hair framing her friendly smile. His mother came up to him and cupped his chin in her hand.

"Apparently I missed something. The sentimental fool has some real blood in him. It just needs to be brought out. And it can be brought out."

No! This mustn't happen. It was too soon.

"Not the time. Not hardly ready."

"Too soon? Too early in the morning, sweet Will? Is the sun shining?"

And she started to sing. As the song progressed, he sensed probing tendrils sneak into his brain, into his deepest feelings, his most buried memories, releasing pain. And more.

"Stop. Please, mum! Begging now! Make it stop! Oh, God!"

"Oh, I'll make it stop, my son. Soon, it'll all be fine again. Just fine, dear William."

Yet she sang on. And the pain didn't stop, it got worse. Everything came out. He covered his ears, trying to block the song, but it was pointless. It came as clear as ever straight into his brain. He could hold it back no longer. His screams echoed through the basement.

_

Paris.

The phone was ringing. Joe picked it up.

"Dawson."

"Joe. Thank Goodness."

A familiar voice, that. One he had not heard in a very long time. The man it belonged to had made a habit of disappearing at irregular intervals, and then showing up when you least expected him. Although not usually sounding quite so relieved.

"Adam? Where the hell are you?"

"On my way to you. Is everything OK? Where's Macleod?

Ah, of course. If you're looking for the Highlander, you ask the Watcher. But did the Old Man sound worried?

"Off somewhere. Probably another one of those getting in tune with himself things. Are you all right?"

"Damn. Not really. Look, I have to go. Watch your back, OK? I'll be there as soon as possible."

"Sure. You take care of yourself."

That was weird and more than a little out of character, although the mystery man thing was Methos to the full. Watch his back? What could the Old Man have meant with that?

_

Sunnydale

There she was. The Slayer. Facing off against this Sluggoth worm. Ready to do her duty as she had always done her duty. And he could help her. This predator had found a new prey. This hunter would hunt his own. He jumped down next to her, and ripped a handy pipe off a wall to have a weapon.

"You've had your turn, luv. Leave the real violence to the demons, yeah?"

Using the pipe, he started to beat up on the worm. This was better. Fight the demons. Help Buffy. Be there for her. Then maybe his own tormentors would leave him in peace. Maybe the accusations would stop. However, that would not be the right picture to present to the Slayer now, would it? To her, he was still the demon, still the bad man. Well, let her believe it.

The Sluggoth was pretty much beaten now, just ripe for the kill.

"That's right. Big bad's back and looking for a little death!"

He used the broken edge of the pipe as a spearpoint, plunging it into the demon's centre of mass. Kill successful. Yet at that same instant, the demon changed into a man, and the pain and the voices exploded again into his skull.

The young man whimpered in pain. Oh no, what had he done? No, no, this was not supposed to happen…

"I'm sorry." Pathetic. Sorry wouldn't cut it. But he couldn't help, couldn't do anything.

"See Will? The killer's still there. He never left. You're still the merciless killer. It's still in your blood."

There he was again, the stranger in black. The scarred face was grinning at him, taunting him with his own thoughts.

"You won't be able to help your friends, my boy. But you can give in to your instincts, and everything will be all right."

Spike pulled the pipe out of the poor young man he'd just wounded. He looked at the pipe. Was everything going to be all right? What was wrong? What was right? Nothing he did seemed to work.

"Right. Wrong. All wrong. Wrong maneuver. Not hardly helpful."

The accusations in the back of his brain grew in volume again. Where the words of the stranger had beaten them back, his own words encouraged them again. And it didn't stop, they wouldn't stop. The spark in him burned, giving power to the voices. And there was nothing he could do.

"God, please help me." That was a good one. What would God want to have to do with him? He was alone. The Slayer. Maybe she would help. After all, he'd done this for her. "Help me!"

"You're not the one who needs help. He's going into shock."

She didn't seem to want to do so. She was more concerned with his victim. As she should. He wasn't worth it. Never had been, never would be. Soul or no soul. But it was so hard. All those people…

"No. No. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. A spark. Light only makes you see the bodies. Can't get it out, it's inside me all the way."

The soul was there. He'd never get it out again. It was in too deep, too far.

"Deep, deep, deep inside me."

"Why should that bother you, Will? It never bothered me."

The stranger again. Was he inside his head as well?

"Get away. Get out."

"I am through with this."

Buffy. Oh, yes. She had it easy.

"Oh, oh, lucky girl. Call it quits. Now, there's an option. If only it were so easy. If only— If only— If only—"

If only he hadn't got back his soul. If only it didn't hurt so much. If only he hadn't accepted Drusilla's kiss. If only the voices would be quiet.

"What the hell are you screaming about? I can hear you. No need to SHOUT!"

The voices got louder and louder, to the point where he just couldn't believe he was the only one to hear them. They were so loud they hurt. Although his cry for silence seemed to have worked. Now there was only the stranger, laughing at him again.

"What a sorry excuse for a vampire you are. Begging your own imagination to stop torturing you. Face it, boy, you'll never be good, and you won't let yourself be bad. You're a joke."

A joke, was he? Well that was just bloody fabulous.

"I get it. The joke's on me. Lots of laughs."

If he was going to be the clown in this little circus, he'd better act the part. He started twirling the pipe he still held… That he had killed a man with…. No forget that, keep going, or he'd completely lose control again, and he didn't want that to happen.

"Yeah. Hey, bring the wife and kiddies. Come see the show 'cause it's going to be a circus."

And not just any circus either. If whatever was talking to him was in any degree serious, then the show would truly be something to behold. Best let the Slayer know that. She should know it. He walked up to her and went to his knees, like a proper supplicant.

This is just the beginning, luv. A warm-up act. The real headliner's coming, and when that band hits the stage, all of this... all this... will come tumbling in death and screaming, horror and bloodshed. From beneath you, it devours. From beneath...

From beneath them, something was getting ready for dinner. Just like the demon… the man he'd killed…had devoured. The poor little doggy. Poor guy. Too much. He had to get out of here, away from this new atrocity he'd committed. He got up and ran away.

_

Paris

Business had been slow tonight. Now the entire club was deserted, but for Joe and a single bartender. Joe was locking tonight's income in the vault when he heard a scream from the bar area. In the vault was also a revolver, in case of emergency. This probably qualified. He headed towards the bar, where the bartender lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. A cloaked figure was still hunched over him. Now the man in the cloak rose and started to come at Joe. Joe fired the gun, twice. Both bullets found their mark, in the chest of his unknown assailant.

"Oh my God."

For some reason, someone was banging on the door. Too stunned to really give his attention to that, Joe made his way over to the two dead bodies. The banging got louder. What was that? Looking up, Joe saw another of the cloaked figures stride towards him, dagger raised. He aimed the revolver again, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Something crashed into the door. Joe pulled the trigger again. Still nothing. Pull, pull, pull. Three times nothing. Too late. He warded off the first stab with his cane, but that was enough to unbalance him. As he hit the floor, he saw a second dagger passing over his head. With a final crash, the door flew open, and a man came running in. In a swirl of beige cloth and bloodied steel it was over. Three dull thuds represented the bodies and a head all hitting the floor.

"Joe, are you okay?"

His savior was Methos, of all people. Not usually a man to get into a fight if he had any choice in the matter. Now he was helping Joe up from the floor, with his sword still out.

"Define 'Okay'. I've got a few scratches and a big bump on the head, but… Jesus…"

He surveyed the destruction in the bar. The assassin he'd shot was in a pool of blood, probably from Dave, the bartender. At his feet, another pool was beginning to form out of the blood from the other two. It almost made him fall down again. Methos caught him.

"Take it easy."

Was he kidding?

"Take it easy? Are you blind?"

"No, but you working yourself into a heart attack isn't going to do any good either."

"But will you look at all this! Three killers, just like that. They killed Dave; they were going to kill me…"

"There's three more of them outside. Those were after me."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?"

The Old Man accompanied him to a chair, and sat down himself in another one, before he answered that question.

"Yes and no. Yes, somebody is killing Watchers. And they're doing a good job. I first ran into some of these guys a few weeks ago. I killed all three. I kept one alive for a while, but you can't talk if you don't have a tongue. So when he kept on trying, he was dead as well. Then I started to lose my Watcher contacts. One moment they're fine, then I call again and I get a police officer on the phone. When I went to visit one of them, I found a dead body. Next thing I know, I wake up in a morgue. Up to that point, all they used were daggers. The ones outside had axes. They must have caught on.

"But no, I haven't a clue who's behind it, and no idea why. And it scares the hell out of me. "

_

Sunnydale

"Can we rest now?" he had asked. She hadn't answered that. Buffy had just left him there, lying over the cross, his skin burning with its touch. But it couldn't burn the soul out of him. It couldn't make the hurting stop.

"Still gloomy, I see."

There was the stranger in black again, back to taunt him. Back to *tempt* him. As if temptation could be possible.

"Just take a hike, mate. No chance in hell I will ever give in to that again"

And again the stranger was laughing at him. That was fine, though. He knew he was the clown in this circus.

"Oh yes you will, Will. Will will have nothing to do with it." Then the stranger started to sing, and as the melody of 'Early one morning' drifted into Spike's ears, all the pain stopped, the voices were silent, and he was free again. Free for the hunt.

He walked out the door, straight through the man in black, who turned around and called after him.

"Happy hunting, my friend. I'll join you soon enough."  



	3. Death in Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is actually mine, but you know that already. I'm just borrowing these great characters for a bit of fun. I get no other profit, so it's no use sueing.

Death in Dreams

Disclaimer: None of this is actually mine, but you know that already. I'm just borrowing these great characters for a bit of fun. I get no other profit, so it's no use sueing.

A great big Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story since I last posted a chapter. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long, but Life interfered with writing. I hope to be able to circumvent that in the future :-)

Special thanks go to Joyce, who beta'd this chapter. I did not take all her suggestios though. Any problems you have are my fault alone. Also thanks to RainforestGoddess for some pointers.

Now I'll let you get on with reading the story. Please tell me what you think in a review or in an email to me at .com

Enjoy,

XwingAce

-

Sunnydale

Nothingness made the pain go away. Ever since he'd gotten his soul back, every second of every night had been filled with the agony his victims suffered. Yet there were times when the pain was gone. When there was nothing. Maybe if he forced himself to hear nothing, see nothing and feel nothing, he could be nothing and the hurting would stop.

"Think it's that easy, do you?"

Ignore the Dark Man, ignore him. He's not real anyway. No heartbeat. Why was he even thinking? Stop, stop. Thinking is not nothing.

"You want oblivion? Very well..."

And the Dark Man sang an old song, a familiar song. No, he mustn't listen. Be nothing.

And then there was nothing...

-

In his hand was the golden gleam of his sword. Running away from him were hundreds of people, afraid of death, Death on a Horse. That horse was straining under him to get into the fray. He let it go and gave chase to the runners. It didn't take him long to catch up with the stragglers, but every time he took a stab at one of them, they vanished into thin air.

He rode on. Even when he caught up with the main column, not one of them was substantial enough to stain his blade. From behind he heard Kronos laughing at him.

This was getting ridiculous. He was the equal if not the superior of Kronos in every respect, and he would not be laughed at. There was still one man who had managed to stay ahead of his horse. Now he'd caught up with this last refugee. This time, his blade penetrated the ribcage of his victim from behind, and as he withdrew the sword, the body flipped. He stared into his own dead eyes.

Kronos drew level beside him, and put his hand on Methos' shoulder, still smiling broadly.

"Adam? Wake up, Old Man."

Huh?

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was getting a very skewed perspective of a laptop keyboard. Slightly higher up was a hand holding a glass of beer.

"I guess I'd better make this a coffee, right?"

Terrific. Not only had he fallen asleep at the computer, but he was having pretentious dreams as well. He might almost believe he was getting old. He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes before looking up at Joe.

"No thanks, the beer's fine."

"Not much luck finding anything over the Net?"

"Eh," Methos looked at the screen. 'Your search - rjNBrSKn:ls - did not match any documents. No pages were found containing "rjnbrskn".' Not much help there. Not that any of his actual search terms had yielded anything more useful.

"No, not really. There are people out there with some very disturbing fantasies, but that's all I could find. Our scarred 'friends' don't seem to register on the world news. The meteor shower in LA is soaking up all the attention. If you go looking at the local news items, you see a lot of fires and the like popping up, but no word of the perpetrators. There are some strange things that almost seem to fit if you go sniffing around on the occult forums, but those are mostly populated with crazies. And the stories they're spreading are even crazier... I don't think I'm getting anywhere. But what about you? Any luck finding some Watchers that haven't been attacked yet?

"Not all that many, all things considered. And those that have survived are cut off from all their resources. They couldn't help me."

"So we're really stuck."

"Yep."

"Great."

-

Sunnydale

"Spike."

Was it her? Had she really come back to him? Or was his mind playing tricks on him again?

"Spike? Look at me."

Had to be tricks. She wouldn't come back. He wasn't worth it. Only if he could help. Couldn't help now. Seeing things again. No point in looking up. She'd be there, all pretty and radiant, and not real.

"I don't think he's rational right now, Buffy."

Carpenter! Whatever his mind had thrown up before, the Slayer's boy had never been part of it. If the boy was here, this must be real. He looked up. Yes, there she was, not looking pretty and radiant but tired and just a little nervous. Xander Harris was two feet behind her, heart racing, and a stake in his hand not quite ready for use. Not too eager to be here either.

"No, he's okay. Right, Spike?" Buffy's tone had the forced cheerfulness that he'd heard her use in front of her friends so often last year. Back then it had been a way of hiding her despair. What could she be desperate about now? He lowered his head once, to indicate that he was indeed listening.

"We found you a place to stay. You can get out of this basement now."

Where would he go? Would she accept him near her again? Of course not. He wasn't good enough for that. She'd made that clear enough by not accepting him when he'd told her about the soul. So why should she now? "Don't believe you. Nowhere to stay but here."

"Don't you start that again. We've found you a place. You'll be a lot better off there. You know that this basement is driving you crazy. So get out. We're offering you the chance. Take it."

No forced cheer now. This was the Slayer in full do-as-I-say mode. So he did as she said. He got up, ignoring the hand Harris offered to help him, and followed them to the car.

-

Paris

It might not be particularly cold for the time of the year, but the December evening was chilly all the same. Still, it was a blessing to be out in the fresh air after being cooped up at Le Blues behind a computer for several days. When after all that time no new attacks had happened, Methos had felt quite safe enough to take a walk. He needed to be alone to think things through, because the logic of the case was pretty much nonexistent. There had not even been any ruckus from the Paris police over the bodies of their assailants he had disposed of. Surely someone would have dredged one of them up from the Seine by now. Besides that, something had been bothering him in his sleep. Not for a thousand years had his dreams and nightmares about the Horsemen been as vivid as they had been the past few weeks. Even though he was dead, Kronos was haunting him again.

These back alleys were nothing like the bustle of the main avenues. Only the occasional clochard disturbed the quiet. There were two of them in a side alley that opened up onto a slightly larger thoroughfare, ragged coats almost - no - *exactly* like the cloaks the assassins had worn.

Right. So they were back, and waiting for him. Stupid of them to position themselves where they could be seen before they could strike, but then these guys had not revealed themselves to be the epitome of intelligence before, either.

One of them responded to the classic tap on the shoulder, and as the cloaked figure turned around, Methos knew he had been right. The scarred face soon became bloodied as his knife did its work.

The other one had time to get his own knife out, but not much more than that. The second body toppled backwards into the street.

That would not do. The Old Man stepped into the street to drag the body back into the alley.

But before he could pick up the limp form, he collided with a running figure.

The runner was a young girl. As their bodies connected, she screamed. After she had taken a closer look at him though, she started to talk to him in rapid and breathless French.

"They're trying to kill me! Help me!"

'They' who?

Ah. About a hundred meters behind her were three more of the cloaked figures, rapidly closing.

And from the other side four more were coming. Just great.

Stick with the old cliches; the enemy of your enemy is your friend. Not always true, but it definitely applied in this case. Maybe the girl could even provide some more information about these mute monks. But he'd have to get her out of trouble first.

"Into this alley. I'll be right behind you."

The two bodies on the ground startled her, but not long. Exhausted as she must have been already, she took off as if her life depended on it. A good example to follow.

-

Sunnydale

Sweet, sweet blood. How could he have put this off so long? The warmth of it coursed through him and invigorated him more than anything else could. This girl deserved the reward.

He bit his own wrist and pressed it against her mouth. The feeling of the blood flowing from him was a completely different form of ecstasy, and a dangerous one as well. Too much would rob him of the strength to bury her, and the first daylight would kill this new vampire. Not enough, and she wouldn't have the strength to do her task.

He took the limp form in his arms and carried her to the place where he had buried so many others already. Waiting for the right time. This one joined the others right quick. The sunrise was getting close.

His hunt for the night done, he walked up to the front door of the house. This house wasn't closed to him. More fool the one who had invited him.

When he had closed the door softly so as to not wake up Xander, Spike almost despaired. It had been another dull night. Buffy had dumped him here, where he was not quite completely unwelcome, and proceeded to completely ignore him. Well, not much changed there. He had never been much more than a plaything to her, perhaps occasionally useful for beating up a slightly more powerful demon. He had to admit that the school basement did seem to aggravate whatever was going on in his head, and so it had probably been a good move to get him out of there. But once here, there was nothing he could do. TV was out during the late hours, because Xander wanted his sleep. Besides, he got enough TV during the day. To sleep was to invite nightmares of him killing so realistic the chip started firing, so he kept awake as much as possible. That left going out as the one possibility for some socializing and entertainment. And even then, not much. It was all so sodding dull that every night ran into the others and left him with nagging headaches. If he were asked what he'd been doing tonight tomorrow, he wouldn't even know exactly.

-

Paris

Pacing on artificial legs was nobody's idea of fun, but Joe was doing it anyway. Methos might have felt safe enough to go out for a walk, but he didn't trust the situation yet. And going out alone under such circumstances was the most stupid course of action possible. Of course, telling that to the Old Man was about as futile as trying to get Mac to not rescue a damsel in distress.

Someone was knocking on the back door. Methos? The Immortal hadn't taken a key, as a minimal precaution if he were to be captured. It took him far too long to get to the door, and the knocking grew more urgent. When he finally managed to open it, Methos was indeed standing there. His back was to the door, shielding a teenaged girl from whatever was out in the street.

"Our 'friends' are back. And they're not just after us this time." The French words sounded strange for a second, but then their meaning penetrated. Methos said a few words to the girl and she slipped inside. The Old Man himself apparently wasn't planning on coming in yet. He was already moving away from the door as he shouted his final instructions.

"Barricade the door. Keep your gun out."

Barricading the doors took half a minute. The girl helped, still panting for breath. When he came back from the vault where he kept the gun, she'd sat down at a table. She was sobbing, and already a small puddle of moisture had formed on the table. He went over to her and tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shied away from his hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay. We'll try to keep you safe." Joe couldn't bring himself to omit the word 'try', even though that meant his words probably weren't all that comforting.

The girl's reaction was strange, however. She did stop sobbing and even looked up, but the look on her face was one of deep horror. His well-intentioned words surely hadn't been *that* bad?

"I don't know if you'll be able to." The girl responded in English. She sniffed a few times. "They killed my parents already, and even a stranger that got in their way. The only reason I could get away was that he didn't. He got between me and them and told me to run." Tears were threatening again, but she managed to keep them back. She only sniffed once before continuing. "I hope your friend doesn't get killed as well."

"Adam? He might not look it and I might not want to believe it sometimes, but he can look after himself. He'll be back, probably without a scratch on him. I'm Joe Dawson, by the way." He offered his hand to the girl. He'd almost managed convince himself with that speech, anyway. The girl took the offered hand after a little hesitation.

"You're American."

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You have a terrible accent."

Had that been the look of horror on her face? His French was good by most standards, but he never had managed to shake the accent. "So bad I scared you into speaking English?"

"Oui." Even through the tears, the girl had an easy smile. She'd be breaking hearts wherever she went in a few years time. She offered her own hand back to him. "Marie Roquefort."

"Pleased to meet you, Marie. Despite the circumstances."  



	4. Pointless Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I'm just getting a bit of fun, that's all.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I'm just getting a bit of fun, that's all.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Getting reviews really is the best way to keep me motivated. That said, it's still been a long time between chapters. I have no excuse and I will probably keep you waiting just as long for the next chapter. I write slowly, and this is proving a difficult story. You do have my promise that I will finish it, eventually.

I should also mention . The episode transcripts I found there are an incredible resource for fanfic writers, but it's also just fun to reread all those old episodes.

I'll let you get on with reading the story now. Please tell me what you think. Leave a review or email me at xwingace (at) fanfix (dot) zzn (dot) com

Enjoy,

XWingAce

-  
Sunnydale

It was Buffy, and this was real. She had just held up a bag of pig's blood so he could feed from it, and she had listened to him. Not like the other Buffy he sometimes saw, who did nothing but mock him, hurt him with her words, but who never touched him, not even to tighten the ropes that bound him. This Buffy had done that when he asked.

It was hard to distinguish what was real, and what wasn't. If he let them, all the voices of the people he killed would echo in his mind, but even when he didn't allow those, there were others. A strange dark man with a cheery voice who seldom did anything other than laugh at his problems, the Slayer in a far crueler, far less caring incarnation than even the one whose abuse he had endured in the name of love for almost a year and...

There was noise coming out of the other room. Buffy left to check on it. As she closed the door behind her, another Spike appeared in the room. The Spike that was the final Other, one of the three ghosts he couldn't exorcise. With the long leather duster, hair immaculately bleached and combed back and wearing a familiar sardonic grin, here was the Spike that had gone forever when his soul had returned.

Or not. There were dark places in his mind, times he remembered nothing of. And then there were flashes of memories. Voices of people he killed that he didn't remember killing. Images of himself feeding off a young girl in front of the new Sunnydale High. Siring a host of vampires to kill the Slayer.

Oh yes. That he remembered. The taste of her blood had woken him up from whatever trance he was in. Then he had wanted her to kill him, so he wouldn't be a danger to her anymore. He couldn't ever help her properly, so it was best if he were gone. But she hadn't killed him. She had taken him to her home and tied him up in a chair. What use was that?

The Other was walking toward him. "Well, we've got ourselves a problem." He walked around the chair that Spike was still sitting in. "We were this close, and then you go and mess it up again. The Slayer's still alive, you're..." The Other looked at the ropes that held Spike in the chair and snorted. "...tied up, and my ace in the hole is still in that hole. Strictly you had nothing to do with it not coming out, but as long as I'm laying blame, I might as well blame it all on you. Because you failed, and what do I do, job half done? Never send a boy to do a man's job. He walked around the chair again until he was facing Spike. Then, for some reason, he chuckled and started singing. The song went straight into Spike's brain, though he tried to fight it.

He was tied up. Ridiculous. The ropes might be strong enough, but this chair would be splinters in half a second. There were people in the other room; he could hear their heartbeats through the thin wall. He had to get one of them, the shortest. There was also someone coming into this room, a woman. Good. She'd be dead as soon as she walked through the door. The woman did walk through the door. He knew her. Buffy. He could not kill Buffy. So she had to be distracted so he could get the other one and get out.

He pretended to be hungry, and she headed for the pig's blood on the table. Oh, he was hungry, but not for that swill. As soon as she looked away, he broke the chair. Ah, freedom. Of course, that brought Buffy back his way, spoiling for a fight. He pushed her aside, and went for the shortest route to his target: through the wall. He had his teeth in the young boy before Buffy got to him and knocked him out.

-

Paris

Methos stopped running long enough to look behind him. He had already put quite a distance between himself and Le Blues, but before he went any further he had to be sure all of the assassins were following him. It wasn't too late yet to circle back to get Joe and the girl out of trouble.

Oh damn. Only three of them were still on his trail. Okay, three he could deal with, if he could create the right circumstances. Then he could go and find the others. He scanned the scene around him. These back alleys weren't really rife with easy hiding places. Here would not be a good place to make a stand. He wouldn't have surprise to aid him, and three to one odds were not good in such a case. Even if the three were stupid. He turned and started running again.

For one accusing his pursuit of lack of intelligence, he was not demonstrating the ability to make such judgements. He had turned into a cul- de-sac. At least here he had walls on three sides of him, so he wouldn't be as easily surrounded. He drew his sword and faced the three cloaked figures coming up the alley. That was when something heavy came down on his shoulders and knocked him nose first into the dirt.

So that was where the others had gone. Maybe they weren't so stupid after all.

He was down. He wasn't out yet. He still had an advantage, because his sword had a reach their daggers couldn't match. He could stab upwards, but they would have to bend over to stab him. Unfortunately, his blade was under him.

Methos rolled over, trying to keep hold of the hilt of the sword. As soon as it came free, he swung it at the three sets of legs he could see. Then he stabbed one of his attackers in the stomach. He rolled back, using his Ivanhoe for support to get up. This made his back a very nice target, but that couldn't be helped. He ignored the various stabs and cuts. They would heal. The gut-wound kept the one robed figure doubled up in the ideal position for decapitation. The upward sweep of the blade took the head clean off.

One down, six to go.

He had to draw his blade in close now, because the remaining monks had circled him while he was getting up. He wouldn't be able to defend himself with the sword alone. He was also running out of time. He'd been stabbed in the lung, and the dagger had remained there. Soon he would drown in his own blood. He was already running out of breath.

He raised the blade one more time to drive it into the ribcage of the soon- to-be-ex attacker, simultaneously stepping in closer. He relieved the corpse of its curved daggers before letting it fall to the ground. With the left dagger he blocked a stab at his kidneys from one of the remaining attackers, the right he hooked into the guts of another. Bits of viscera came with it when he removed it to plant it firmly into the heart of dead body number three. He fought a cough before he had to twist away from another attack. The assassin overbalanced and fell forward. Methos caught him and dispatched him with a slash across the throat. Then he could stop the coughing no longer. It hurt more with every breath he took, and it didn't take long for the merciful dark to come.

-  
Sunnydale.

Yet again Buffy had refused to kill him. He had demonstrated again that he was a danger to her and he had begged her, even tried to frighten her into killing him. No such luck. At least now he was shackled to the wall. He wouldn't be able to break loose out of these chains when he lost control again. Or was triggered, or whatever Buffy thought someone had done to his mind. Didn't matter how it happened, when it went quiet in his mind, he was too dangerous. He killed when he was like that, as if he still was the same soulless thing he had been for over a century. That thing deserved to die, if nothing else. Killing him would be the easiest way to accomplish it. Apparently Buffy disagreed. It was nice that she thought that his actions this past time had mattered, but that was only about the past year, and even then only part time.

He tried again. He lunged until the chains wouldn't let him go any further and growled in his most threatening voice. "Window dressing."

"Be easier, wouldn't it, it if were an act, but it's not. You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man."

"Buffy..." As Buffy walked closer to him, the Dark Man appeared next to her.

"Kill her, then, if you really believe what you just said." Then he started to hum a tune, but Buffy drowned him out. She got so close that he could do nothing but look at her and listen to her.

"And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike."

She believed in him! Maybe there was hope. Maybe he would be able to love her the way she deserved it after all. The voice of the Dark Man intruded on those thoughts.

"No? Oh well. On to plan B." At just about that time several figures in dark cloaks smashed through the cellar door.

-  
Paris

The breath of returning life still hurt. The blood had cleared, but the dagger was still in his lung. The hilt protruded out of his back, where he could barely reach it. His fingers managed to get a hold of it, but when he pulled it out the point cut into his heart. He died again.

-  
Sunnydale

Why not? After all the mental torture, physical torture was the logical way to go. But it didn't matter. Buffy believed in him. She'd come for him. He could hold out for her. -

-  
Paris

It wasn't like the Old Man to stay away this long. He should not have needed all this time to deal with the men chasing him. Had he been killed? But if Methos was dead, why hadn't the monks –or whatever they were- returned?

Marie had cried herself to sleep. The tears had caused her mascara to run, leaving black streaks on the red sleeves of her shirt. Joe had put a blanket around her to keep her warm. He had sat at the same table all night. There was no way he would have been able to sleep anyway.

Something scratched at the back door. Joe made his way over to it and peeked outside. He couldn't open the door as fast as he liked after what he saw. Methos had come back, drenched in blood, and his clothes were torn to shreds.

"What happened to you?" "Our friends surrounded me. Seven against one. Is the girl alright?" Methos looked at the state of his clothes. "I need a shower."

The Old Man did know how to dump information. Joe hardly knew where to start answering. In reverse order, then.

"I'd agree on the shower. Marie's fine, she's asleep. Seven? How the hell did you do that?" "I didn't. I got five, then they got me. I don't know where the other two went."

Methos left Joe standing in the hall while he headed for the shower.

Joe was back in the club with Marie when the Old Man returned, clean and in fresh clothes. Not only that, but Methos had taken the time to fix breakfast. Was he being thoughtful for Joe or for the girl? The girl, obviously. He gently shook her until she woke up, then put one of the cups of coffee in front of her. Marie, from the way her face lit up, was relieved to see her savior again. She caught him in a hug that the Old Man seemed to have trouble freeing himself out of.

"You're okay! Thank God." "I don't know what He had to do with it, but yes, I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Methos had gone from blood-covered savage to concerned uncle in the space of fifteen minutes. The transformation was astounding even for Joe, who had seen the Old Man pull similar tricks before, but never this extreme. Marie was buying all of it. She was also bombarding him with questions about how he got away from the attackers, but Methos avoided actually answering any of them. He steered the conversation to Marie's side of the story.

"When did they come after you?" "I came home from my piano lessons. My parents..." The poor girl still wasn't completely done crying, but she took strength from the hand Methos placed on her shoulder. "My parents were in the front room. Everything was red, and there was a pool on the floor... I saw something move. I didn't think, I just ran. Three of them almost caught up with me two blocks from my home. Then there was a stranger. An Englishman, from his accent. He stepped between them and me. He told me to keep running, to get away. I ran. I don't know what happened to him." Marie looked up over her shoulder at Methos. "You stepped out of that alley about five minutes later."

The girl's story sounded much like what had happened to Joe a few days ago. Walk in, find a dead body, get attacked yourself. But one thing was different...

"Who was the Englishman?" "I don't know. I'd never seen him before. He seemed to know who I was, though. He called me by my name... Oh! He said something else, too. He said to go to Sunnydale. To find the Slayer..."


	5. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Familiar Faces Chapter 5: Arrivals

Familiar Faces Chapter 5: Arrivals

Not so many reviews this time. I guess I asked for it. So an extra big Thank You to the people who did take the trouble to review.

You know, reviewing may not make me write faster, you do get the possibility to point out to me where you think I'm going wrong, whether that is because I'm making spelling errors, characterisation errors, or that my storytelling style is completely broken. I can only try to fix these things if somebody tells me they're broken.

So please, write a review and tell me what you think. You can also email me at xwingace(at)fanfix(dot)zzn(dot)com.

Enjoy,

XwingAce

-  
Sunnydale

It was all happening again. The First had started another attack on the Slayer. And again it had used a vampire with a soul. No points for originality, but then it didn't need to be original, as long as the plan worked.

The first time hadn't worked, but it had been close. This time, it had been even closer. Perhaps it had worked. Spike had been under The First's complete control, not even aware of it. But before they could work together to get him out from under that control, the First had taken him away. By taking Spike The First had taken the one person who might be strong enough to stand with her against it, no matter how tenuous his sanity was at the moment. Buffy had to stand alone. She didn't even have Giles to counsel her.

Instead, she had another one of the First's dupes, and he was talking. Too much, even. It was impossible to shut him up with anything short of gagging. But Andrew had shown her the place he had killed his own best friend, and what a sight it had been. Someone was tortured there. Spike? If he had been, he was gone now.

The whole group had returned to Revello drive afterwards. Willow was now trying to do a locator spell. She'd sounded confident, but as she poured the sand to do the spell, The First struck. Something blew up, and Willow was taken over by a giant demon that started firing lightning at Buffy. Buffy was knocked down. Only because Xander acted quickly and destroyed the focus of the spell nothing worse than that happened. But the damage was done. Willow was crying, upset because she had let The First take her over. She only calmed down a little when Buffy promised her she wouldn't have to do magic again.

This was too much. To attack the Slayer was one thing. She was destined to oppose things like The First. But her friends had never had that destiny, they were just caught in the crossfire, and that wasn't right. The First was going to pay. Despite Xander's pleas to let him come, she was preparing to go out alone. Buffy pulled open the door to leave.

And almost bumped into the last person she had expected to see. Giles.

-  
Paris

Joe went to join Methos, who was again glued to his computer. He'd stayed awake this time, though, probably partly because Marie had claimed the piano in the bar and was frantically trying to play every piece of music she knew. She was having mixed success, so quite well played phrases were alternated with false notes and sometimes even a few very unladylike curses. It didn't seem to bother the Old Man much. He was absorbed in whatever was on his screen, although he did flinch when Marie missed a chord by a particularly wide margin. He only looked up when Joe was standing directly behind him.

"Any luck, Old Man?" "Some. Google is a lot more helpful if you have specific keywords to put in. I must say that Sunnydale does not appear to be as pleasant a place as the name makes it seem."

Methos clicked on a tab in the window and brought up a page with news articles. He quickly scrolled through them. Marie inadvertently set the mood by starting the Danse Macabre.

"Lots of unexplained deaths and disappearances, a high school that was blown up during the graduation ceremony, invasions by biker gangs and last but not least, an insanity epidemic. I'm not sure I'd like to go there. On the other hand, if our friends are there, they would probably fit right in. It's also close to LA, so it could be connected to whatever is going on there."

Joe pulled a barstool closer and settled down for a long conversation. "What about the 'Slayer'?"

"Nothing on the news sites unless Marie has to go find one of several serial killers. None of which are currently based in Sunnydale. I don't know what to think about the sources that do mention a Slayer in other contexts. Those sites are all dedicated to demonology, prophecies, conspiracy theories and that sort of thing. Especially vampires crop up a lot."

The missed chord came exactly on cue for the Old Man's mention of vampires. Joe couldn't tell whether the flinch was because of the music or the improbability of the stories he'd been investigating. "Great, we're down to nonexistent myths and rumors."

That brought on the ghost of a smirk. "You just said that to a supposedly nonexistent myth, Joe."

There was something in the Old Man's tone of voice. "What, you're telling me that vampires exist? The man who absolutely refused to even contemplate the existence of a demon like Ahriman?"

"I have never seen a demon. I did see vampires. But that was a very long time ago. I'd have thought they were extinct. The modern world isn't really suited to beings that are at their best in complete darkness."

Methos sounded contemplative, not entirely convinced that there were still vampires around, but definitely willing to consider the possibility. Joe wasn't so inclined, but actually that was beside the point, as long as they could get some information. "Okay, so do we at least get some information about the Slayer from these sites?"

"Only that it's supposed to be a woman."

"That's it?" "That's it. Not much, but it'll have to do. I don't think we can afford to wait much longer. As soon as you can track down Amanda or Macleod so you have some protection, I'll take Marie to Sunnydale."

"Already done. Amanda called me this morning. She found her Watcher. He'd been dead for at least a week. I told her to come here. She's on her way."

"No Highlander?" "Mac is still nowhere to be found, at least not with the resources I currently have at my disposal. I've got a few survivors coming here as well. Maybe we can figure something out together."

"Macleod would be a better protector. But Amanda should be able to protect you well enough in here."

"What with all we've done with it over the past weeks, this place is a fortress. It should hold, yes." Joe worked his way back onto his feet. "I'll go tell Marie to stop playing and start packing."

-  
Sunnydale

Seeing Giles again was great. But the news and the people he brought were not. The Watcher's Council was gone. Okay, maybe that wasn't the worst news in the world. But the First wasn't just trying to kill the current Slayer and her Watcher support, it was going after all potential Slayers as well. Giles had rounded up three of them whose Watchers had already been killed and brought them to Sunnydale. According to him, more were on their way.

So in addition to her old advisor Buffy got three more people to protect. At least two of them weren't in any sort of state to protect themselves, acting like good schoolgirls and taking notes of whatever was said to them, but probably unable to stake a vampire if their lives depended on it. Which, let's face it, it did. The third seemed a bit better prepared, but she hadn't really endeared herself with her behavior.

Time to keep an eye on the bright side. Giles was back, and he'd brought some information on The First. That was something. He was helping her find Spike. That was another thing. He didn't especially know that she was looking for Spike, but hey, you couldn't have everything.

The bright side was hard to see in this darkness. She had gone down into the pit where she had found The First previously, and she could almost touch the blackness.

What was that? Something slid past behind her back. Buffy turned around. Nothing. She turned back to continue onward into the maze of caves.

The hiss was more of a surprise than the fang-face. But the punch beat both. And the one after, and the one after that. It took a long time before Buffy could pull herself together enough to fight back properly, and even then the vampire was scarily efficient in avoiding or blocking her moves. When she finally managed to put a stake through his chest...

The vampire took it right out again and tried to stab her with it. Time to start running, but where to? Big, strong and scary was impossible to avoid. He got in several more punches and managed to break her hand before Buffy could escape into the dawn.

Coming home was no joy after that. To make matters worse, the new arrivals were already up and chattering, just when she needed a few moments of peace and quiet. Maybe she'd get it at school.

-  
Sunnydale

"It doesn't look like a place where you could find vampires, if they really do exist. It's far too, well, sunny."

Marie was basking in the light of the evening sun. She was right, too. It didn't look at all like a place vampires might favor. Long daylight hours made for short hunting times and modern buildings didn't leave enough nooks and crannies where they could hide their traditional accessories.

If there were any vampires at all. The last vampire sighting Methos trusted had been well over a thousand years ago. Oh, he had heard of more in the years after, but most of those could be traced to either some disease or an Immortal mistaken for a vampire. He had been the victim of such a mistake himself once, forced to lie in a grave for fifty years while the stake rotted enough to allow his heart to heal. Thankfully they didn't use the decapitation method of vampire disposal in that particular area. But even that was three hundred years in the past. By the time Bram Stoker appeared on scene, vampires had been long gone. Or were they?

"So close to Los Angeles, too. I suppose that could explain all those vampire movies."

Apparently jet lag was not something that affected the girl's sense of humor. It didn't seem to have affected her much at all, in fact. She certainly looked a lot fresher than Methos felt as they walked to their rental car. "I doubt Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt are vampires."

"It would be a shame if they were." Her expression seemed to imply otherwise. "So why are we even believing this vampire nonsense?"

"We're not. But we can still be careful. Catch." He tossed the car keys to Marie. She caught them, but then looked up at him incredulously.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" "You're driving. That car is the best protection you can get. You stay in it until we find this 'Slayer'. If we run into trouble, you run over the trouble. "I can't drive! I'm only sixteen!" "Sure you can." But they didn't allow sixteen-year-olds to drive in Europe. The things one forgot when forging papers, instead of going about it the official way. Oh well. Methos shrugged mentally, then smiled at Marie, who was still looking shocked. "Come on, it's not that difficult. I'll talk you through it."

-  
Sunnydale

School had not brought much in the way of peace and quiet. Just some more disturbing dreams when she dozed off during a conversation. And there was the scarily handsome and mysterious principal, who seemed to be keeping an overly close eye on her.

All in all, Buffy had not been refreshed by the respite the day had brought her from fighting the incredibly strong proto-vampire. And now that day was almost over, so she would have to prepare for the night. The new arrivals weren't helping. At first, the two meek ones were just about screaming for protection, while the other –Kennedy?- kept demanding weapons. Well, if she wanted them, she could have them. Buffy had Giles open the weapons chest, then dismissed the potential Slayers from her mind to deal with Andrew, and then finally a little quiet time, with only Giles standing by with good advice.

That ended when Kennedy came in with the news that Annabelle, the most frightened of the potentials, had decided that outside would be safer. Just before sunset with a Turok-Han out there. Maybe it was for the best. This way Buffy could lure the vampire away from her house, and at least the others would be safe. Everyone but Annabelle.


	6. A farewell and a welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. I decided that I really had to continue this thing sometime. Sorry it took so long.

Right. I decided that I really had to continue this thing sometime. Sorry it took so long.

I realise that it might seem like I don't pay all that much attention to reviews, but I really do, it's just that writing is hard. If you tell me what you like, you'll make me happy, and if you tell me what you think I did wrong, you'll still make me happy, because then I can do things better next time. So leave a review or email me at xwingace (at) fanfix (dot) zzn (dot) com .

Big thanks to Shadowsdancing for betaing this chapter. Any mistakes you still find are my own.

Now read on...

Xwingace

Sunnydale

Marie took reasonably well to driving. She was still nervous, but that was to be expected. The location of the Slayer however, proved harder to learn. Of the few people still out after dark, none would give them any information. In fact, most seemed extremely reluctant even to talkMethos was starting to despair at finding the Slayer, whoever that might be, tonight.

A group of teenagers was standing together on a street corner. Perhaps they could tell him what he needed to know. If they couldn't, he would be forced to find a hotel for the both of them and continue tomorrow. Methos got Marie to pull over. He rolled down the window and tried to attract the kids' attention. They turned towards him, but didn't say anything. It seemed as if they were waiting for him to get out. He could oblige. As Methos opened the door, Marie began to undo her seatbelt, intending to get out. He stopped her before she could follow through.

"Stay in the car. Just to be on the safe side."

The group appeared to grow as he approached it. There were about half a dozen kids here, high school seniors, maybe college freshmen. They separated to surround him. Their spokesman stood right in front of Methos. The boy was tall and made good use of his height; Methos had to look up to see his face.

"You were looking for someone?"

"Yes. Someone called 'The Slayer'." Mention of the Slayer sent a murmur through the group. So these kids did know something. "Can you tell me how this 'Slayer' can be found?"

"Sure." The young man grinned. Then his face changed, contracted into a grim mask. "If you scream loud enough, maybe she'll turn up."

Before Methos could follow that advice, however, two of the others standing behind him had grabbed his arms and a third had clamped a hand over his mouth. Several started to head for the car, but Marie caught on. They were left watching her taillights. Good girl.

Time to deal with his own attackers. The leader was approaching him now, coming very close. The others held Methos tightly. He couldn't move his arms or even turn his head. Well, there was always the ladies' option. He waited for Number One to come close enough, then brought his knee up as fast as he could manage. Success. The big guy doubled up instantly. That shocked one of the kids holding his arms enough to loosen her grip. He used the leverage of his free arm to twist around and unbalance the other two. It didn't work quite as well as he'd hoped. He managed to free his other arm, but the one that had been clasping a hand over his mouth was still hanging on. Now both hands were around Methos' throat in an impressive stranglehold. To top it all off, Number One had recovered and, now extremely pissed, came in swinging. Methos ducked, dragging Number Four down with him, so that the face of the strangler was right in the path of the oncoming fist. To thank One for getting Four off his back, Methos tripped him up and administered a well-aimed kick to the head.

He had some room again. Time to assess the situation. At least five against one if One stayed unconscious. If Four's grip was anything to go by, their strength more than made up for their less than intelligent fighting methods. Bad odds. Time to run. He set off after Marie.

He hadn't gotten very far before two of the kids caught up with him. He drew his knives, displaying them threateningly. His menacing stance didn't impress them at all. Two and Three attacked simultaneously, perhaps counting on a reluctance on his part to hit women. Survival instincts had drilled that reaction out of him a long time ago. Not that he was hitting them now. His knives drew thin lines of blood and sent both girls shrieking. The three young men that attacked then needed a more thorough treatment. Before he had to resort to lethal methods, however, there came an opening and he took it. Methos started running again.

After turning a corner in the road, he was confronted with the wreck of his rental car. When he approached it, he had just enough time to see Marie lying next to it, unconscious and covered in blood. Then the gang caught up with him again. That did it. No more holding back. The first one that attacked him got a knife through the heart. His other knife drew blood on another, before ending up in a third's kidneys. He drew his sword.

How many of them were there? He had seen six when he'd gotten out of the car, but now there still were six, and he had certainly killed two. That was the only thought he had time to complete before all six attacked, all at once. He picked a random direction and extended his sword. The kid attacking from that side swerved just in time to avoid impaling himself. He could not avoid the upward stroke that cut his torso in half. Methos took in the deliciously startled expression on One's face.

Then One exploded into dust.

Without even pausing to consider what had happened, the Old Man slipped through the opening this caused. In three steps, he was on the roof of the car. He decapitated one of the girls. This time the resulting cloud of dust barely surprised him. The other four were also starting to climb onto the car, Two, Five and Six on one side, and Three on the other. A few seconds and two satisfying dust clouds later, only Six and Three were still standing. Now Methos brought the Ivanhoe around in a great arc, first taking off Six's head, then spinning on his heel and changing hands to take Three's in the same stroke.

He halted mid-spin, nearly losing his balance by doing so. Three was already gone, her dust dissipating in the evening breeze. Instead, his blade had passed over the head of a young woman. She had dropped into a crouch to avoid it, but was now straightening again. By the looks of it, she hadn't even needed to crouch. With him standing on the roof of the car and she only on the hood, he would have missed her no matter what. He brought the sword in close, taking the standard guard position.

"That was sort of impressive."

Her tone was just slightly on the sarcastic side. She certainly didn't seem all that impressed. In fact, she seemed distracted, as if she'd just stopped by on her way to somewhere else. She did keep staring at him, though. Almost as if she had intended the statement as a question, and was now waiting for the answer. Methos stifled the equally sarcastic sneer he wanted to give her as a reply. He wasn't really in a mood for answering questions, but maybe he could get an answer for one of his own. This girl looked like she might have it. He lowered his sword further and set his voice in the calmer tones of Adam Pierson.

"We were looking for the Slayer."

Something about the question or the tone of his voice must have answered her questions as well, because all curiosity disappeared from her expression. Instead it became exceedingly solemn.

"You found her." She turned around to look down at Marie. "Only just a little too late, it seems."

Marie! The near trance of the fight had all but driven her from his mind. He jumped down from the car to kneel at her side. The Slayer did likewise. She felt for a pulse. It was quite obvious she wasn't going to find one. If the bloody mess that had been Marie's throat wasn't enough, there was also the deformation of her forehead. It looked like it had been flattened with a hammer.

"So close, and yet so far." The Slayer spoke the words softly, a goodbye to a girl she had never known. Then she looked up at Methos. "I'm sorry, but there's another girl like her out there that I still might be able to save. I have to go." She glanced down at Marie. "If you want, take her to my place. I...I could call an ambulance, but the local morgue is probably busy enough already. And it would invite a lot of questions."

"Let's avoid questions, indeed." Methos got up, then held out a hand to the Slayer. She didn't take it. "I'll take her to your house. If you could tell me where it is?"

"Revello Drive. Take the right there, then the second left. Keep going until you get to the house that looks like it's been condemned. That's it." After pointing out the street, the young woman wiped blonde strands of hair out of her eyes and picked up the stake she had dropped when she kneeled. She turned towards him, as if to say something else, but thought better of it. Then she ran off, presumably following some sort of trail.

Methos turned back to the car. There was a deep dent in the front fender, as if it had driven into something. The windshield was nothing but splintered glass, some of which was bloodied.

He opened one of the doors to get out his bag. The airbag had deployed, but the seatbelt was still rolled up in its holder. From the looks of it, Marie had tried to do exactly what he had told her to do. She had still died. There was a lesson in that.

He slung his backpack over his shoulders. Travelling light was once again proving useful. He picked up Marie, cradled her in his arms, and set off for the Slayer's house.

Marie was still warm. In the way she lay in his hold, it was almost as if she was just sleeping. A sleep she wouldn't wake up from. He hadn't known the girl long, but she had shown bravery and a fine sense of humor, both of which meant she had had enormous potential to become a great woman. So many chances nipped in the bud. Why?

The fight had awakened his more savage side. That now responded to his feelings of grief and loss by coming back stronger than ever. Methos quelled all of it. Rage would only bring on more misery and he did not, at the moment, have the luxury of grieving. The streets weren't safe, and he also had to think.

The men in the cloaks had been after the Watchers. That was how he had gotten involved. Marie didn't know anything about the Watchers. Her connection was, somehow, to the Slayer. Did that mean that the Slayer was connected to the Watchers? None of his experiences suggested it, but not even Methos had access to everything in the Watcher network.

There was one other fact that might connect the Watchers and the Slayer, and Marie was in the middle of it again. A man had interposed himself between her and the assassins. That man had told her to find the Slayer. Had he been a Watcher? With the incredible amount of Watcher deaths in the past months it would be almost impossible to determine. It did seem a very proactive thing to do. Then again, the Watcher oath of non-interference had been a joke for a long time already.

The Slayer had seemed to accept him on no other evidence than his voice and his admission he was looking for her. Again, why? Did she know about Watchers and had she simply assumed him to be one? In that case, why hadn't she been surprised about his sword?

How did vampires fit into all of this? Obviously reports of their extinction had been greatly exaggerated. But tonight's fight was the first time in centuries he had seen them. The attack also didn't seem to have been planned to catch him and Marie specifically. They'd just stumbled onto a group out for the hunt. There was no connection to the men in the cloaks that he could see. Except the Slayer. The Vampire Slayer, to be precise.

When he'd come across the stories on the Internet he had been skeptical. But they had contained at least a grain of truth. So then, somehow, the Slayer was central to all this. He would have to get more information to draw better conclusions.

While the Old Man turned the corner, still deep in thought, the figure of a man appeared next to what was left of the car. He was clad in leather armor, and one half of his face bore an elaborate tattoo. A large scar marred the other side. He picked up a white rose, drenched in blood, and smelled it. He grinned.

"Welcome to the Hellmouth, Brother."


	7. Bring on the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Familiar Faces chapter 7: Bring on the Night

Familiar Faces chapter 7: Bring on the Night

Finally, a new chapter. Sorry it took so long, I think the next one should come faster.

A great big thank you to all of you who reviewed. It may not look it, but it does encourage me to keep writing and, more importantly, thinking about how I could make this story better. An even bigger thank you for Shadows Dancing, who beta'd this chapter. Go check out her HL/X-Men crossover in the TV crossovers section.

And in a slight breach of my own policy: Jezowen, if you're still reading this, I very much enjoyed and appreciated your reviews of earlier chapters, and if you had an email adress I could reach you on, you would have gotten responses. I do not normally reply to every reviewer specifically in new chapters, I do it via email if it's warranted.

So, tell me what you think of this chapter/ the whole fic. Please write a review (and leave your email addy somewhere I can find it) or email me at  
xwingace(at)fanfix(dot)zzn(dot)com , replacing the obvious, of course.

In this chapter I used a chunk of dialoque from the episode Bring on the Night. As always,anything you may recognise from other sources is not very likely to be mine, I'm just playing with it. Please don't sue.

Now enjoy,

XWA

Methos leaned his forehead against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. He let the warm water run over him. For just a few minutes, he had privacy and the opportunity to relax his guard a little. He let go of the grief he had suppressed until now. He held on to his anger, however. He hardened it into a tight knot of determination aimed at finding whoever or whatever had caused Marie's death, and then…

Well, he still had to determine his subsequent course of action. But it would not be pleasant for the recipient.

When he had arrived at the Slayer's house, he truly hadn't expected her description as 'condemned' to be accurate, but it actually came fairly close. The front window had been expertly boarded up, and most of the planks of the porch were chipped and scuffed. A few brand new ones did seem to indicate that someone was doing repairs.

He had caused quite a stir when he walked into the house. The older gentleman who opened the door had been struck all but dumb upon seeing Marie, the sight eliciting no more than a shocked 'Oh dear lord'. Inside, the crowd of mostly girls all reacted differently, but mostly silently. Of one girl he had only seen brown curly hair when she fled to the kitchen. From the sounds that had resulted, Methos guessed she was being sick.

Introductions had been little more than Giles, designated doorman and obviously the senior in the house, asking his name before mentioning everybody else's. He'd held on to his Adam Pierson identity, which was the only one with a connection to the Watchers, and Methos still felt that they might have something to do with all this.

Strangely enough, the girl that seemed least affected also seemed to be the youngest. Giles had introduced her as Dawn, Buffy's - the Slayer's- sister. She alone came closer to look at Marie, and it had been she also who had pointed out the bunk in the cellar as a place to lay Marie down so she could be cleaned up before burying her. She had instructed the one other male, a tall, dark-haired kid by the odd name of Xander, to take Marie out of Methos' hands, and then all but ordered Methos to the shower.

The shower he was now getting out of. Luxuriating could be done later. Methos had more dilemmas to solve. Just one more second.

Methos resolutely turned off the tap. When the flow of water stopped, the thoughts started streaming again. He still didn't know how everything fitted together. He still didn't know how he would fit in here. Hell, he didn't even know why there were seven kids barely out of puberty sitting downstairs with no more supervision than an aging Brit. And to top it all off, just at the moment Xander had taken Marie from his arms, he thought he had felt the buzzing of a pre-immortal. Then Dawn had slapped his arm and sent him upstairs, so he had had no time to confirm the sensation.

He sighed. It was just one more problem on the steadily growing list. At the top of which was, currently, his clothing.

Everything he had worn today was beyond rescue. Several rips indicated that at least one of the vampires had come a bit too close for comfort. All of it was stained with blood, some of which might even have been his own. He did have a change of clothes in his backpack, but that didn't include a coat long enough to comfortably hide his sword in. He only had a jacket that was just long enough to carry it along his spine. Not the most comfortable, nor the safest or even the most inconspicuous way of hiding it. It would have to do for now.

When he came downstairs Giles approached him.

"Adam…Buffy has been gone for an awfully long time. Xander and Willow and I are going to find her. I need you to watch over the others."

Why was Giles trusting Methos –or rather Adam Pierson, the new arrival, with these kids? Giles was taking away what seemed to be the most capable people in the house. With what he had encountered out there that didn't seem like all that bad an idea but how safe would this house be then?

Not that Methos voiced these suspicions. He just nodded. Giles seemed to need no more encouragement.

"Very good. The weapons chest is here, use whatever you need. Do try to put it back; it's enough of a mess already. Dawn will help you with the rest."

And that was it. There were a few quick good-byes to the rest and the trio was out the door.

Of course it wasn't Dawn that came to help him. Instead, the two other girls battered him with questions about the men in cloaks –Bringers, apparently - and about Marie. They both seemed to be assuming that he was Marie's Watcher. Why would a girl like Marie, who quite obviously wasn't even pre-immortal, let alone Immortal, need a Watcher? And how would these girls know about it? Add another puzzle to the list. He answered their questions as superficially as possible. He didn't deny being Marie's Watcher, but he didn't confirm it either. It was getting quite uncomfortable, in the end.

Finally Dawn started to run some interference. She called from the kitchen that there was food, and both the girls ran to get it. Peace at last.

He spotted a stack of books on the coffee table. He picked up the top one, but then the embossing on the cover of the second one caught his eye. It was similar to the Watchers sigil he carried on his wrist, but more elaborate and detailed. Methos took that one instead. He opened it.

"Typical. Show a Watcher a book and he's got his oversized nose in it before you can blink."

He ignored Anya. The things she said and the way she said them sounded like she didn't really expect anyone to be listening, anyway.

On the first page, the seal was repeated, this time beautifully colored in, parts of it gilded.

There was also a title beautifully calligaphed over it:_Commentaria Deregi Senatorum Servatores_

Someone had scribbled a translation at the bottom of the page, in pencil: _Handbook of the Council of Watchers._

This was getting interesting. As far as he knew, the only 'Council' -like organ the Watchers had was the Tribunal, and that was only for Watchers who had committed major crimes, like befriending an Immortal. He started leafing through the rest of the book. At least three people had written notes and translations in the margins. In several places loose pages had been inserted. A lot of it did read like a Watcher's journal of a few hundred years ago, Latin text full of strange beasts and occurrences. Strangely enough, there were no descriptions of Quickenings or the lives of any particular Immortals. There was, however, a long list in the back. It had dates in it, followed by a woman's name, the name of a location, and another name, this time mostly a man's. At first glance, none of it looked familiar. He turned back to the beginning.

_In every generation, there is a Chosen One. She alone has the strength to stand against the forces of darkness…_

Nothing he hadn't yet read a dozen times over on various websites, except this time in Latin. He skipped slightly ahead.

…_But of course she cannot truly stand alone. That strength needs direction; the Slayer needs training and guidance. Our order was created so that we may guide and prepare these young women for their battle. Within these pages is contained the information deemed most necessary by the Council for Slayers and their Watchers to know. May it serve you well._

Two organizations calling themselves Watchers? No, then the sigils would not be so similar. This had been one organization, once. Methos felt the need to curse long and internationally rise ever higher. Why hadn't he **known** about this?

Then the headlights of an arriving car threw beams of light through the remaining gaps in the boarding of the living room window, and everyone but Methos rushed for the door. The Slayer had come back, and she didn't look too good.

It hurt. Why did it always have to hurt so much? No. It hurt more this time. **This **time, she hadn't been able to beat it. This time, she failed. In the other room, her friends were talking. Buffy listened, almost catatonic, and not really noticing the man sitting quietly behind her, also listening.

Then she heard Willow say something.

"What do we do if she can't fight, if she can't beat this thing?"

Did they have so little trust in her? After all the pain, all the hurts they'd been through together, did they not think they could beat this, together? Buffy got up and made her way into the kitchen. She just caught the end of something Giles said.

"I don't know if we can fight it."

He wasn't entirely wrong, but was that a reason to give up? Buffy stepped further into the kitchen. She felt some movement behind her, but she paid it no attention. She had to do **something** to get all of them on the same level again.

"You're right. We don't know how to fight it. We don't know when it'll come. We can't run, can't hide, can't pretend it's not the end, 'cause it is."

And the world had ended before, too. This was bigger, so this group had to fight bigger as well.

"Something's always been there to try and destroy the world. We've beaten them back, but we're not dealing with them anymore. We're dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest. The First."

It wasn't going to be easy. It was going to be hard, very hard. And she was already exhausted. Giles had noticed that, too.

"Buffy, I—I-I know you're tired."

He didn't know the half of it. "I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. I'm standing on the mouth of hell, and it is gonna swallow me whole."

Like it had before, at least twice. Would it be any less painful this time? Hell no.

"And it'll choke on me. We're not ready? They're not ready. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, we'll give 'em one."

Buffy looked around the room. Looked at Molly and Kennedy, the two Potential Slayers who still survived. At Giles, Willow and Xander, who had stood beside her since the beginning. At Dawn, a little sister to be protected. And at Anya and Andrew, former enemies turned reluctant allies. One of those under her protection had already died. Who would be the next?

"Anyone else who wants to run, do it now.'Cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one, until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself. There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil, and that's us."

She paused. Then: "Any questions?"

There was a second of silence. Then, behind her, someone started clapping their hands. The slow slaps oozed sarcasm. Buffy turned around. Leaning against the doorframestood a vaguely familiar looking man. Who the hell was he? Then she looked in his eyes, and recognized the look. That same casual arrogance had flashed across a face above a sword, earlier this evening. This was the man who had held the sword. Then, the look had disappeared in an instant, but now it seemed to be here to stay.

He was a Watcher, right? His accent and behavior earlier this evening did make that likely. His behavior now as well, really. The only Watcher who had ever given her any respect at all was Giles. She was also far beyond taking any of that crap. "If you've got something to say, then say it."

The man snapped to attention. "Of course, General." He ripped off a textbook salute; Riley could have learned from it. Then he slouched against the doorframe again. "So will you go and rip this 'Firsts' heart out, or will it be up to one of us good little soldiers? How many will it take?"

Didn't he even get that everything was just beginning? "I…"

"You don't know. Do you care?" The man paused, looking her over, his eyes lingering, not on her hips or her chest, but on the big bruise on her cheek and the long cut on her arm. "You aren't in any condition to fight." He gestured around the room. "And the rest of us wouldn't even know where to begin. What a fine army we'd make."

That did it. She pushed him back into the anteroom. Behind her she heard various 'Hey's' in response to the Watcher's comment, but that was no longer relevant.

He was stronger than he looked. He had been taken by surprise by her first push, but after that he put up admirable resistance. It didn't matter. She pushed or dragged him all the way into the hallway, out of hearing range of the others. Buffy thrust him against the wall, causing the man to flinch. Then she jabbed her finger against his sternum.

"You need to understand something. The only way this will **ever** end is if we work together. If that means we form an army with me as the general, then so be it. When we're all working together, then we can find out how to beat this, and we can fight it. The First won't be beaten by some Watcher fresh off the plane from England telling me what to do. That didn't work before, it certainly won't work now. So you can either shut up and work with us, or you can go."

She let him go. The Watcher had closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, the arrogance was gone, replaced by something deeper. Grief? He opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it. He looked down and shook his head. This time the look was one of resignation.

"I'll stay."


	8. Sleep of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is finally another chapter of Familiar Faces. This fic is slowly starting to resemble hell in the way it is progressing. But I have promised it before, and I promise it again, I will finish this. Eventually.

So here is finally another chapter of Familiar Faces. This fic is slowly starting to resemble hell in the way it is progressing. But I have promised it before, and I promise it again, I will finish this. Eventually.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and an even bigger thank you to Shadows Dancing for beta-ing. Constructive criticism makes XWA a better writer. Please leave your comments in a review, by email, or in my journal. Both of the latter can be found in my Author profile.

Enjoy,

XWingAce

Methos paused his digging to yawn. It had been entirely too long a day. Flying to the States, finding the Slayer's house, and then finally the war council that had kept the whole group up past dawn. At present he had been awake for forty-six hours and counting.

He also still had a phone call to make. Back in Paris, Joe would be wondering what had happened to him and Marie. But first, there were graves to dig. He wouldn't let Marie lie in a dank cellar any longer than was necessary. And as long as he was digging anyway, he could also dig the grave for the other poor girl that had died last night.

The Slayer came outside, carrying Marie's body. She gently laid it down next to Annabelle's, then came to stand at the foot of the two graves.

"You okay?" She asked.

He nodded. "Just tired."

"I know how you feel." Her voice was sympathetic. "It feels like I haven't slept for days either." She held out her hand to help him out of the grave. Methos took it, and felt her incongruous strength pull him up.

"I have to go to work soon. But I can help you bury them, at least." The young woman gestured to the two bodies now lying on the grass, securely wrapped in sheets.

"Thank you." He moved over to pick up Marie's body. He took the shoulders, Buffy took the legs. Together, they moved the body over the grave and lowered it as slowly as possible. Still, the last foot or so it had to be dropped. They did the same thing with Annabelle's body, only changing places.

Methos was beginning to feel the lightheadedness that came with near total exhaustion. He tried to shake it off. He picked up the shovel and started to shift the soil back onto the bodies Buffy picked up another shovel and moved in to help.

After a few minutes, Xander appeared in the doorway.

"Hey Buff. I' m taking Dawn to school. D'you want a lift, or are you coming in later?"

Methos looked at the Slayer. She stared back at him, slightly embarrassed. "Do you think you can handle this? I already missed a lot of time at work…"

He nodded. "I'll manage. Thanks for the help, but I wanted to do this alone anyway. Go."

They left. Methos marveled at the strange situation that had developed here. He was burying two girls in the back yard of someone who killed vampires and demons by night and was a counselor by day. All things considered, it was probably just slightly less weird than people living forever and cutting each other's heads off with swords.

He resumed his shoveling. Soon both bodies were properly covered. He placed the makeshift markers on the graves. It didn't feel like enough.

Marie had been catholic, hadn't she? With a name like that, and in France, it was likely. Methos had never given much credence to any form of Christianity, or any of the monotheistic religions, but that wasn't the point right now. Besides, after centuries of living in Christian society, the prayers had worn their grooves in his memory.

He started the litany of Mary. He only knew the praises in Latin, but for the simpler Hail Marys in between he started in French, then worked his way through other languages. He hadn't yet run out when the litany was finished.

"Look at you, mourning. Feeling left out? Don't worry, brother, you'll get your amusements soon enough"

Methos felt as if the world slowed down around him. He knew that voice. The voice of a dead man. He tried to twist around, but he seemed to move through gelatin. Before he had even managed to stand up completely straight, the figure from his nightmares had moved in front of him.

"Kronos." Okay, two things were wrong here. One, the man he was facing now was dead, killed, not by Methos himself, but in his presence. He had even shared in his brother's Quickening. Two, even though Kronos had wanted to return to the olden days of terror, when he'd died under Macleod's blade he had certainly updated his clothing. The Kronos standing before him was Pestilence of the Horsemen, complete with armor and tattoos. And grinning.

"You enjoyed the fight last night, Methos, don't deny it. Deep down, nothing has changed."

"You're dead." Remarks from last night's conversation, and of Macleod's ordeal four years ago, began to click together. A spirit who could appear in the guises of the dead…

"And you are Death. Remember that, Brother."

With those words, time resumed its normal course. The visitation was over.

Outside, it had been quiet. Apparently the general populace of Sunnydale was smart enough to lie in until well after dawn. Not in this house, however. In his search for a little privacy Methos walked in first on Andrew, still tied up in the living room. Anya was busy with whatever in the kitchen, and Kennedy was exercising in the basement. The bathroom was locked, so probably Molly was in there. He tried the bedrooms. In two of them, he barely found room to put his feet among the welter of blankets and clothes. Finally, the last room he tried was empty and reasonably uncluttered. Pretty much the only things that indicated that anyone ever used it were the bottles on the makeup stand and a stuffed pig on the bed.

He sat down on the bed and dialed the number of le Blues on his cellphone.

Joe heard the phone ringing from the other end of the club. Before he could make his way over there through the throng of Watchers, however, Amanda had already answered it.

"Adam, darling. You kept us worrying. Just like you to grab a good night's sleep before calling." There was a slight pause. "Joe's on his way. Hang on."

As soon as he reached the bar, Amanda handed him the horn.

"Dawson."

"Hey Joe. Everything still okay over there?" The Old Man sounded odd.

"It feels like I'm hosting a Watcher seminar, but yes, basically everything's fine here. How are you getting on? Marie okay?"

The ominous silence on the other end of the line pretty much said it all. "Shit."

"I buried her this morning. She never even made it to the Slayer's house."

"The monks again?"

"No. We ran across some vampires. I dealt with them, but I had to leave her alone and something else killed her."

"It's all real?"

"It's all real."

"So what are we dealing with?" Again, there was a pause on the other end of the line. "Unless you tell me something I can't help you, Old Man."

"Joe, are you absolutely sure the Watchers have nothing to do with the Slayer?"

"I don't have access to everything, buddy, but I think something like this would have come up. Why?"

"I found a book here that looked like a chronicle, Watcher's seal and all. But it had a whole section on Slayer training."

Now it was Joe's turn to pause. Never in his whole career as a Watcher, had the term 'Slayer' ever come up. And vampires, like most of the supernatural, had been dismissed as either misinterpretations of Immortals or plain overactive imaginations. Which was actually pretty strange, come to think of it.

"Joe? You still there?" He'd paused too long, apparently. Methos was getting worried.

"I'm here." He answered, then paused for a breath to answer the earlier question. "I'm sure I never heard of a Slayer, but maybe some others have. I'll have to rattle some bars. Thankfully we've got most of the surviving European Watchers together here, so it shouldn't take too long. But you still haven't told me what you think we're dealing with."

"Ahriman is after the Slayer and the Watchers."

"What? But…"

"But I didn't believe in Ahriman and Mac was supposed to have driven him off for another thousand years. I know. Consider me a convert. I don't know why or how he's back, but trust me, he is."

"Yeah, sure. You want the information I had on him, right?"

"They have some information here too, but maybe you found something that was missed here. So yes, that would be great."

"I'll see if I can get it to you. If I can still find it, that is. Same for the Slayer stuff."

"Thanks, Joe."

"You're welcome. Hang in there, Old Man."

"Bye, Joe."

And the line went dead. Right, there was work to do.

Finally. All the things that could not wait were done. Now he really should be doing his own part in the research. That training manual/chronicle was still there, waiting to be studied more intensely. But for now, this bed really was nice and soft, and it had been so long since he had a proper sleep. No time for that, really. But closing his eyes for two seconds felt so good…

Methos slept.


End file.
